Stay, she thought she heard someone say from somewhere far below her. Staystaystaystaystay.
My mind teases me! Got to get out of here. Her legs pumped even more furiously.
Stay.
There was no imagining it—she had heard something. Only this time it came from close by, over her shoulder. Feril’s eyes went wide with horror. It wasn’t the voice of a single ghost—not Obelia or Kalilnama or any of their companions. No ghost was in sight, only the still-darkening blue waters.
Stay. The word was much louder this time.
But it wasn’t one voice, it was several, she realized after the word had been repeated several more times.
Stay.
Repeated, magnified, and distorted. A dozen voices, hundreds of voices. Perhaps it was the voices of all the spirits trapped here, loud, powerful, and persuasive, in one chorus. Perhaps it was the true voice of the lake itself.
Staystaystaystaystay.
Stay? She pondered the temptation. She couldn’t, could she? There were things to do, like saving Dhamon and helping the refugees. Important things.
Staystaystaystaystay.
Earthbound duties weren’t that important. Maybe she should stay. It wouldn’t be so bad to join the elves in Qualinost, she mused, as she’d made many nice ghostly friends there. She hadn’t seen enough of the city, and she could explore it all at her leisure if she remained underwater. She would have all the time in the world to see everything. She could go back to the building with all the sculptures and talk to the artisan who had fashioned such remarkable images.
Stay, Ferilleeagh. Staystaystaystaystay.
Tempting.
The water started to thicken around her, embracing and cocooning her. It no longer felt hurtfully frigid; it was beginning to soothe her. The chorus of voices came from all around now and became superbly melodious.
Stay, Ferilleeagh. Stay.
Not so bad to stay here. Not so bad…
Stay.
Yes, I…not ever! she suddenly raged. I’ll not be tricked! The Kagonesti finally recognized that some magical force was trying to muddle her senses and seduce her into staying. Dhamon’s fate is entwined with mine, and if I die, he’ll never be human again. You’ll not keep me here. Important things to do.
She kicked her legs harder, holding tight to the straps of the satchels. They were anchors slowing her down, but she couldn’t lose their contents, so she continued to struggle, hoping the lake would not overpower her.
You’ll not defeat me, Nalis Aren, and you’ll never see me again.
Sadly she thought about the Qualinesti spirits in the city. She’d promised to return and tell them if Dhamon had become human again—and she had sincerely intended to keep her promise. But now, she realized, she could never come back…provided the lake and its spirits would let her leave in the first place.
Feril cursed the dead overlord that had settled at the bottom of the lake, that had caused all this ruin and somehow cursed and warped the water. Her anger gave her strength and helped ward off the cold again suffusing her limbs.
So dark. So cold. Why haven’t I reached the warm part of the lake?
Stay Ferilleeagh. Staystaystaystaystaystay.
Why haven’t I…
She barely made out the form of a sauger-fish swimming past her face. In the midnight water, its body was dark; all she spotted was the white of its belly and lower jaw. Higher, and she saw the pale olive stripe of a pike. Spurred on by hope, she put all her concentration and energy into reaching the warm surface.
Eventually she was rewarded.
Dhamon was listening to the birds, insects, and wind. He’d told himself he’d go looking for her when the moon was overhead, but he’d lingered on the shore past that time. Feril was wise and powerful and could take care of herself, he told Ragh more than once. He believed that, though he had to admit he was afraid of the lake. He’d wait just a little longer, he kept telling Ragh.
Finally he heard a soft splash and spotted Feril swimming toward him. Ragh jumped up. Dhamon breathed a sigh of relief as she made it to shore.
“We’re leaving,” she announced peremptorily, after nodding to the sivak and dropping the two satchels on the sand. She was gasping and took several deep breaths. “I’m never coming back to this accursed place.”
“Can’t be fast enough for me,” the draconian said. “Hope you collected Dhamon’s cure in one of those packs.” He reached for the satchels. Water poured out of the gaps as he put one over each shoulder. “I’ve a few suggestions on where we can go. I’ve been thinking about far, far north, or maybe the Dragon Isles.”
Feril shook her head, the droplets of water caught in the moonlight looking like liquid silver. “Not there. We’re not going in that direction at all.”
“Where?” This came from Dhamon.
“To Sable’s swamp,” she told them. “I’ll explain along the way, but the best chance for a cure is in the swamp…and in those bags…and in one of Sable’s scales.” She touched a scale on Dhamon’s leg and looked up at him. She couldn’t see his eyes from where she was standing. “If the two of you are feeling all right, I’d like to get started now. I truly don’t want to stay around this place.”
Ragh kicked at stones, muttering. “Fine, fine. Go back to the swamp and get ourselves killed or worse. I don’t even get a vote anymore.”
Dhamon craned his neck to look in her eyes. “I’ll fly us there, Feril. It won’t take long. Perhaps it would be…safer.”
She shook her head. “I want to go by land at least for a while…if you don’t mind. I’m through with swimming for a while—and flying too. I need to feel the ground beneath my feet.”
14
The bear was a rich shade of cinnamon brown, with a lighter brown concave muzzle and a large white patch on its chest. It was more than six feet long and half again that high at the shoulders, likely weighing about seven hundred pounds. It was wading downstream from where Feril and Ragh were studying the contents of the satchels. It was diligently looking for fish, curved claws and long teeth flashing when it finally caught a thick-bodied salmon.
Around a bend and a few miles farther down the stream were two more bears, larger and stockier, and of a different breed. Their dense fur was yellow-brown, the hair tipped silvery-white in places. Each had a pronounced hump above its shoulders and claws a half-dozen inches long. Their heads appeared disproportionately massive because of long ruffs, and each weighed well more than a thousand pounds. They had been feeding well this morning and were finishing the last of the salmon they’d caught.
Dhamon suppressed his fear aura and slid closer to the two bears.
Though the trees were thick in this part of the Qualinesti forest, he managed to slip through clumps of river birch without making a lot of noise. All dragons possessed magical abilities, and Dhamon knew magic let him move almost noiselessly when he truly wanted to. He just rarely put the effort into it.
The trees ended only a yard or so from the stream, giving way to the rocky bank. Dhamon stopped to watch the bears more closely, the shadows from the trees effectively hiding him; the wind was blowing toward him strong enough to keep his stench from giving him away. They were beautiful animals, fast for their size and powerful, but they would not be long for the world, as Dhamon was hungry.
When it looked like the bears were about to move farther down the stream, he sprang forward, jaws snapping, the talons of his right claw flexing. He slammed the smaller of the two animals against the ground. Though grievously wounded, the bear roared and tried to writhe free. Its mate made a huffing sound and bared its teeth, hair rising on its back in defiance. It looked once at its trapped mate and then raced across the stream. It gave a roar that trailed off into a wail as Dhamon reared back and struck, his neck stretching out, jaws opening wide.